


Bloody Branches

by Nanosilver



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Gen, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5384441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanosilver/pseuds/Nanosilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izuna never died, and the war stretched on - taking lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Branches

Dawn came with cruel fervor, rays of sunlight harshly breaking forth from the horizon, cutting through ashes and dust and a thick, heavy blanket of smoke.

The air was cold and dry, rough on the throat and remainder as much as reminder of a bloody battle that had raged during the early hours of the day. The scent of charred flesh and ashes lingered, and somewhere inbetween was the familiar sting of human blood and festering wounds.

Perhaps they weren’t all dead, but they might as well be.

Madara stepped over a wild growth of roots, stretching carelessly over a burnt patch of grass, ceasing and meandering off at the very edges of the field. Vines and trunks had pierced through the dry earth, symbolisms of life turned into a vile tool of murder.

“Your old buddy always leaves such messy battlefields behind,” a voice mused,  quiet and pert and just the slightest bit provocative.

“Shut it, Izuna.”

The younger brother laid a gloved hand on his chest and reared back as if stung, yet that mocking smirk never quite left his lips. “I’m being oppressed.”

“Go and search for survivors,” Madara responded harshly, clipped and with a lingering threat underneath.

“Totally oppressed, I tell you!”

Within a moment’s notice he was gone, nothing but a few footprints in the ash whispering that he had ever been there.

The field felt hollow; empty. There were bodies, but none lived, none emitted chakra – all dead to his senses. The life was leaving the last of them.  Heavy was the knowledge that many of them would not have died had he anticipated that Hashirama would be here.

Nevertheless… regrets never led anywhere but backwards, and Madara was not wont to get caught up in them.

His men gathered the bodies – their own and the enemies’, leaving him to wander the field on his own; it was better that way, for he was able to take the time to honor their sacrifices. Most of these soldiers he knew, and he could see how they had died. Stabbed, bisected, decapitated…

The vines and trunks that carelessly dangled bodies from the trees were perhaps the most grotesque perversion of life one would ever see. Blood dripped ceaselessly from above, dyeing the scorched earth beneath a deep crimson. Four bodies he recognized, impaled on a meandering tree that spiraled into the sky like a silent memorial of slaughter. Its branches were scorched, implying that they had at the very least fought back.

It was true – Hashirama always left the messiest battlefields behind.

He wandered, walked through this canopy of blood and death, the smell of copper and decay stinging in his nose, throat and mouth – there were very few Senju among them, and very many Uchiha.

This battle should have been an easy win for them, had his eternal nemesis not been here.

The edges of the field slowly bled into green, untouched pastures. The end of the forest, and the end of the bloody feast. He stared at the uneven transition only shortly, soon directing his mind back to darker, more somber things.

One last body crossed his vision – caught his mind.

It was small, almost tiny; children of that age were rarely ready to face open combat. Only three children should’ve been present during this battle – two were dead, and one had returned safely with the survivors. The other two he had already seen; one a stain on the ground, the other impaled by a spear at the very edge of the field of roots.

This one…

This one should not have been here.

The clan head narrowed his eyes, edging closer with wary steps. The roots beneath his feet could easily give in after all-

He stopped.

The boy’s feet dangled above the ground by maybe twenty centimeters – he could see it, the child had been leaping forward – a Kunai thoughtlessly dropped to the ground beneath; he must’ve held it, lunging at an enemy.

The branch he dangled from had pushed through his chest cavity from behind, leaving by the most cruel miracle possible all his vital organs intact. Blood streamed forward from his throat, suggesting a rather unclean mercy kill. Oh, he had seen those, he had performed those himself-

He had never expected to see one on his own child.

_How…_

The earth should’ve shaken beneath his rage. All the life around him should have withered and died, shied away from living to bloom nevermore, and the skies should’ve bled red and hot and fiery.

Yet…

He looked at his face, remembering an eager smile on it - too eager perhaps - and already the pain in his chest fled away, leaving emptiness. His boy’s eyes too were empty now, revealing nothing but a numb silence within.

He had no strength to rage.

The branches snapped under his sharp blade, dropping the body to the ground facedown with an unpleasant thud. There was no dignity in death, no matter how much soldiers dreamed of it.

For a few more minutes the silence surrounded him,  _crushed_  him, before a shadow emerged from the chaos behind and made the life and the spinning world return, stepping forward and wiping ashes and dust from its clothes.

“There is no one left alive at the southern edge.”

The voice was solemn, dropping its constant edge to remember and honor the fallen for the briefest moment. Eventually the younger brother’s gaze drifted, and Izuna tilted his head. “Who is tha-“

His voice faltered, his jaw snapped shut. The wheels in his head began to turn at full speed; Madara could see it. Brow creased, lips pressed together tightly. Already wondering why and how – but such was Izuna. His way of grieving involved finding the culprit, instead of lingering on the victim forevermore.

Somberly, silently, wordlessly the elder brother stepped forward and picked up the tiny corpse - welcoming the numbness that surrounded him - and left the field without another word.


End file.
